


Cuddle Me, Darling?

by kangelique



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bail Bond Agent Emma Swan, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Gen, Kissing, Married Life, Small Flashbacks, Some Humor, Writer Captain Hook | Killian Jones, husband and wife because apparently i really writing them like this, some downtime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: When Killian, a former lieutenant who made some bad decisions and was once a broken man , is going through writer's block, he goes to Emma for a cuddle and...ends up getting more.





	Cuddle Me, Darling?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally it was supposed to be a quick cuddle and a FEW paragraphs long, but of course it got away from me and I ended up diving into a bit of history and a bit more detail, so hope you like it!

**Cuddle Me, Darling? :**

 

Killian stares at the blank sheet of paper in a silent challenge. For what exactly? He doesn't know. It's not like he expects the first page -or in a more classical and fanciful word:  _component-_ to write itself, but still one can hope.

 

He tips his head back to rest on the back of his chair and sighs for what must be the thirteenth time in a series of two hours- Two. Whole. Hours- and if he was feeling particularly irked by this newfound writer's block that had made itself scarce for months much to his magnificent pleasure that allowed him to speed through six components without interruption, then maybe this was where he would leaned forward and tried to  _will_ his creative juices to flow onto the significant blue pen he always makes sure to write his terrible ( and bloody wonderful once they have undergone the magic of editing ) first components with before typing. But he's not irked. He's just tired, and that makes the thought of standing up and striding out of this study to the respective living room where a beautiful woman awaits him - _his_ beautiful woman to be precise- all the more tempting, but it also feels too much like defeat and Killian Jones has never been one to be known to back down without a fight.

 

Glancing to his left, the corners of his mouth immediately tick up into a smile like he knew they would upon catching sight of her familiar scratchy and seemingly always appearing rushed handwriting that was Emma's next to his more neat and loopy cursive one. He can practically hear her teasing voice in his head and see the cute wrinkle of her nose that he adores when she doesn't agree with something -or maybe the loud and clarity of her voice is because the echoes of her laughter are travelling from the living room space and reaching him where he's already concocted an image of her sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching  _Young and Hungry_ with a bowl of buttery popcorn that is very much not a healthy choice he would approve of for an 9:00 o'clock breakfast no matter how much she insists it's harmless.

 

_"Components, Killian, really?" she snorted, but it was devoid of any malice he'd grown accustomed to hearing most adults spew whenever he opened up about the books he planned to write in the near future. She was different. Her eyes danced with a playfulness that declared she secretly liked his use of the word even though she wouldn't admit it, and there was a hidden admiration in between her words that confirmed it._

 

_As a writer, of course he was adept to reading between the lines._

 

_"Aye, Swan, it's meant to be original."_

 

_"Don't composers refer to that as their music?"_

 

_"Is this a good time to reveal that I can play the guitar?"_

 

_Her eyes widened in fake surprise and she slapped his arm. "You could have serenaded me at our wedding!"_

 

_He caught her wrist and overturned it to plant a soft kiss atop her hand. A move that reminisced when they'd first been introduced. "I did serenade you," he whispered with warm breath spilling over her uncomprehending cold skin before smirking in deeper recollection. "Mary Margaret cried, remember?"_

 

_Emma laughed and the sound was still music to his ears even after all these fights, arguments, and list of bad days that made them snap at each other, but never once had he regretted pledging his heart to her that summer of 2015. He might as well have been pledging his entire soul for how kindred it burned alike to hers, like they were destined to find each other after years of heartbreak from outer and within. "Oh, YEAH. I think David was jealous."_

 

_"Because you won the prize?"_

 

_She rolled her eyes but her smile always betrayed her. "I'm not answering that."_

 

_"You don't need to."_

 

The wall was almost overfilling with quotes. Words hastily written on sticky notes that had come from his own inspiration or his rare waxes of poetry sometimes; others had been conveyed more calmly in the night, a sentence in a book that was loaded with meaning but masked in a simplicity he didn't wish to forget. He identified Emma's with her red, grey, and yellow that were a contrast to his continuous blue. After a while their sticky notes with different messages had begun to intermingle, and where it had once been his wall of quotes was now theirs, a colorful mix of their thoughts and understanding, paragraphs and sentences that spoke out to their pain or their happiness. 

 

One day he'd walked in like any other day poised to write and with the cup of coffee's rim at his lips, he'd suddenly noticed. There it was in silent waiting, the newest inclusion. It had read:

 

**maybe I'm not so blind. maybe I just chose to see the good in you. -JmStorm**

 

That maybe wasn't a maybe. That maybe was a definitely. After all, he'd chosen to do the same with her.

 

The next day he'd added his own quote and made sure to tape it purposely beside hers. Blue and red side by side. It had read:

 

    **She's a thunderstorm wrapped in beautiful flesh, looking to be felt and understood** **in a world that loves sunny days. -JmStorm**

 

She never mentioned seeing it afterward, but neither did he. The secret smiles they'd share at night was enough, and instead she'd be wrapped up in him, a tangle of sweaty limbs after having made love to each other and falling asleep in the comforting feel of her skin on his skin that they'd long since marked as Emma being his and Killian being Emma's. The peaceful smile she wore even in sleep alerted him to the fact that she did feel understood by him, and in that moment is when he knew how far they had come from the broken girl and boy they had been when they first met all those years ago. He loved her even in her most darkest days, and the thunderstorm she had carried as a tool to push him away didn't faze him, it only made him love her harder, hold her tighter when she was positive he would let go simply because others hadn't known how to love this woman the way she deserved. They'd abandoned her and disappointed her time and time again, and in a way he was grateful even if the thought of a faceless man hurting his Swan stirred up an impressive amount of anger, because every heartache and every tear had led them to each other until they had finally come together like pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly and belonged to one another so well and so strongly that it was like fate itself had sealed their matrimony.

 

And so it went on that more red, yellow, and gray sticky notes were added to accompany his blue ones until half the wall was covered with words only they knew and sentences that hit close to his heart and small paragraphs that revolved around Emma's hopes and dreams and past and the fears she'd had of loving someone and being loved back. Fears that were no more with him. Hope and dreams that included him, and a past she'd learned to stop staring back at.

 

Killian stood up and refused to think of walking out of the study as defeat. He'd come to realize that it was more of walking out and regaining his strength. Before Emma, he'd been a reckless fool that drove on impulse and based his decisions on yelling to hell with the consequences. She'd taught him to breathe and unawarely guided him to becoming the better man he'd ceased to believe was still possible. In return he'd broken down her walls one by one and sat with her in the dark even before there had been any admittance of feelings of any kind. He'd held her hand and watched as she restored the pieces of the heart that had been burned too many times; he'd patiently waited as she learned to trust again through his smiles and small talk that turned into late night conversations on the floor with their arms used as makeshift pillows and flirting that cracked through her tough facade and made her laugh and call him ridiculous repeatedly as all the while he reveled in that telling blush that took settlement on her cheeks whenever he started or finished a sentence with "Love", "Darling", or "Sweetheart". 

 

He didn't need to fix her. She fixed herself. In the end you could only hope to be lucky enough to find someone who will be there for you, who will never stop fighting for you.

 

So it was a good damn thing they were both stubborn idiots.

 

Another smile tugged at his lips when he found that Emma was, indeed, sitting cross-legged on the couch, the rather  _large_ bowl of popcorn placed in between her legs and stuffed to the very brim as her hand dived in to grab another fistful that she quite unashamedly popped into her mouth. She looked away from the TV screen and smirked like she knew he just  _wanted_ to say something about the eating habits they'd been disagreeing on for the last couple years -or should he say even before the white dress and the black tuxedo?

 

_"Poptarts, Swan, really?"  
_

 

_She laughed at the wrinkle of his nose and face twisted up in discord, and then just to peeve him more she snatched the very disapproved poptart from his hand and took a huge bite of it, making sure to emphasize the crunch as she chewed and with every sound he cringed some more. He glared at her in his discomfort and she just shrugged, turning around to let herself fall into one of the chairs behind her, seemingly having accomplished much this morning._

 

_He spun around without a word and headed straight for her cabinets before she could question it like only Emma Swan knew how to question it -Bail Bonds person, aye?_

 

_"Uh, what are you doing, Jones?"_

 

_"Uh, making you breakfast, Swan. A PROPER breakfast, might I fortify for the sake of you and your vitamins."_

 

_"What?" she stood up. "No, you're not." and in that moment of silence he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the expectation she'd had that he would leave after falling asleep to what was slowly becoming a late night talk routine with separate blankets thrown over their not tangled legs and cups of cocoa with cinnamon taking up the respective amount of space between them._

 

_"This pan tells me otherwise."_

 

_"Fine," Emma huffed and shoved the remaining poptart into her mouth, ignoring his grimace and quickly made an attempt to take the pan from his hands, but he moved it out of her reach at the last second. She stood back and crossed her arms, crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth making it hard to take her serious when a grin fought to sprout out and his hand suddenly itched to use this thumb to swipe them away. Skin on skin. "That's not fair, I'm not tall."_

 

_"Precisely, my dear," he winked._

 

_She rolled her eyes, pretending that she hadn't been caught off-guard. Stubborn as hell, the lass was._

 

_He sighed and nudged her stomach gently with the front of a spatula, gradually coaxing her to sit back down with a dramatic plop that made the grin finally spill out as he quickly turned around so she wouldn't catch it. "I'll cook and afterwards you get to rate it from one to ten. In the meantime you get to share your plans with me for the imminent start of your day, aye? Sweet deal, if you ask me," he subtlety turned back around to gauge her reaction, feigning to be searching for the baking powder while observing from the corner of his eyes how she bit her lip in thought._

 

_"What makes you think I want to share my plans with you?"_

 

_He smiled. "Hoping, I suppose."_

 

_She smiled back, albeit a little warily. "Okay, and why the rating from one to ten?"_

 

_"Because I'm an excellent chef and I know you'll love it, so it's guaranteed."_

 

_An evil smirk crossed her face then. "I'm rating it one, then."_

 

_"But I'm making your favorite," he brought the power of his puppy eyes on her, and when had he decided he wanted this forever? If not something more then he would settle on simply being friends for the rest of his days if that's what she wished. But there was the spark of something more, and he would cling to it for as long as he couldn't._

 

_Emma raised a daring eyebrow. "Oh yeah, and what's that?"_

 

_"Pancakes."_

 

_She snorted, "Weren't you just shaming poptarts from all over the world just now? I don't know, I guess I expected a boiled oatmeal or something to get back at me. Why indulge me, Jones?"_

 

_He shrugged, portraying nonchalance. "Because I'm a terrible friend, Swan, that's all."_

 

_Perhaps there was some sincerity in that, but he payed it no mind. Not now, at least._

 

_"No," she said quietly._

 

_"No?" his furrowed eyebrows echoed confused._

 

_"You're not terrible."_

 

Seated like that, Killian had always mused it gave her the distinct impression of innocence. When he took in her form, like the way his grey t-shirt hung loose and vast on her from the upper part of her body where the cotton hid her carefree nipples not held back by any bra, and the way her running shorts that clung tightly to her ass when she assured them at the waist were almost invisible to him in the wholeness of his shirt, it made him realize that it was their love that kept them young, not the age-wise itself. 

 

The blonde hair pushed to one side of her shoulder indicated the careful fingers that had brushed through her strands, helping her unknot the wild pieces created by her bedhead until it was just serene waves falling down her naked back as he lulled her to their previous dreaming once again with one arm protectively curled around her small waist while the free hand danced a loving pattern up and down her arm.

 

Yes, they were indeed no longer children. Husband and wife suited him fine, and who could have guessed one day he would have been able to let go of the young lieutenant that had been witness to betrayal and loss and a ruthless authority who proclaimed in the best interests of his country? There was a joy in seeing him go while not forgetting the better memories, the better pieces of that man to transform into the one who could feel worthy of holding Emma Swan's hand. Change him into the type of man that  had found himself in paper and pen.

 

"So writer's block, eh?" Emma teased as he dropped into the cushion beside her and reached forward to remove the bowl from in between her legs so he could settle his head comfortably on her lap.

 

"Mmm," he mumbled absently, kissing the inside of her thigh before settling back down again and closing his eyes. "How ever did you guess."

 

She chuckled and it was like this little bubble they were in, just for them for a million more chapters in their life to come -reference? "Must be a hunch. OR the fact that after our morning sex you disappeared into your study for uh, an estimation of two hours -completely guessing here, I lost track of what season I'm in- and now you come to me for...?"

 

"Certainly not your culinary skills, darling."

 

Emma scoffed. "I'll have you know that I got by for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before you happened to come along with your exaggerated innuendos and ' _Poptarts will give you heart attacks, Swan_ '."

 

"Heartburn, love," he corrected and she continued massaging the skin at the nape of his neck. He practically purred at her touch, encouraging her to sift her long fingers through the dark locks that made up his tousled state.

 

"Yeah, that."

 

"And that is just another mystery to uncover, ain't it?"

 

"What is?"

 

"How you got by."

 

"Shut up."

 

He turned his head to grin up at her and she pointedly kept her gaze on the television -Truthfully, she liked when he cooked for her. She'd admitted it several quiet times under the sheets in the security of his arms and a navy comforter. His knuckled glided up past her chin and along her jaw until he cupped her cheek. "Hello there, beautiful."

 

Emma smiled softly at him for a minute before a mischievous glint crossed her eye and suddenly his head fell dully to an empty space. He switched his body to lay on his back -a contrast to the sideways position he'd been on- at the same time he was assaulted by a fast flying Swan that landed on his chest with a giggle and made the 'oof' escaped into the mouth that caught his bottom lip with her teeth and then tugged his head forward to capture his lips with her extremely sweet, extremely buttery ones. He rose up into a sitting position as he tilted his head to gain better of her tongue and allow her the entrance she needed as her arms snaked around his neck and one of his own came around her shoulders, pulling her infinitely more close while his right hand came to lose itself in her hair. She halted the kiss with a loud smacking sound as they parted and then they just stayed there, smiling at each other like fools. 

 

"I missed that," she whispered.

 

"I was only gone for two hours, sweetheart."

 

"I know," she breathed. "two hours, too long. But Josh and Gabby were kissing and then I remembered that  _I_ also had a man to be cheesy with and have those 'let's make out in the elevator' kind of moments."

 

"Shame we have no elevator, then."

 

Emma pressed forward, arching one sole eyebrow that mirrored his own little tick. "But we do have a bed."

 

"I like the way you think," he all but growled and then abruptly stood up, the contents of the bowl raining out when his hurried feet moved to race up toward their bedroom. Emma yelped as she scurried to wrap her legs around his waist and brace herself on his shoulders as she stole kiss after kiss, baiting him further, not letting him deepen it as he took the stairs two by two and hoisted her up higher with the hands cupping her ass so she wouldn't topple back. 

 

"May I?" he asked quietly once they were bare to each other and he was positioned at her entrance, clothes strewn on the floor from where their passionate kisses had melted into sweet and slow, hands beginning to memorize, and love bites starting to shine on his neck and under her breast in the still early morning light. She rolled her eyes at his chivalry but nodded with a small smile because even now, when he could take her whenever he wanted, he still always asked for her permission to spill himself inside her and bring her a monstrous amount of pleasure, and somehow that made this more special.

 

Like it was the first time again when two broken people had barely begun to heal their gaping scars.

 

_"May I, Emma?"_

 

_"Yes."_

 

( In case you're wondering, his inspiration did return. Afterwards. )

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Quotes from : JmStorm ( Yep, he's real poet, really recommend his quotes/book if you really like poetry ) 
> 
> And finally: Thoughts? I'd be happy to hear what you thought!


End file.
